


The Granger Affair

by Delancey654



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blackmail, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Political Expediency, The Reynolds Pamphlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-18 19:21:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delancey654/pseuds/Delancey654
Summary: A few years after Voldemort’s defeat, Lucius Malfoy and the Traditionalist Party are poised to take control of the government. The Golden Trio is willing to do anything to prevent this, but Hermione Granger has her own agenda. Loosely based on first-ever sex scandal in American politics, the “Reynolds Affair.”





	1. The Room Where It Happens

**Author's Note:**

> The pairing I selected was Alexander Hamilton and his devoted wife, Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, who forgave his very blatant and well-publicized affair with Maria Reynolds. 
> 
> I was never able to wrap my head around the idea of Hermione as the long-suffering wife, so this story features her in the role of temptress Maria Reynolds and Draco as Alexander Hamilton. 
> 
> Chapter titles are derived from the Hamilton musical and there are lyrics from the musical sprinkled throughout. All of those belong to Lin-Manuel Miranda, just as all Harry Potter characters belong to J.K. Rowling. 
> 
> Many thanks to the mods for organizing this last hurrah for the Dramione Remix, and to I was BOTWP for beta-reading this. I haven’t written any fan fiction for more than a year, but she fixed my mistakes and convinced me this story wasn’t utter trash (in a bad way - it may be trashy in a good way!).

_8 August 2004 _

One by one, disheartened members of the Order of the Phoenix departed from Grimmauld Place, queuing at one of the fireplaces for Floo access or filing out the front door - past the spot where Walburga Black’s portrait had been replaced by a wall of photos featuring a healthy percentage of gingers - to Apparate away from the tiny front stoop. 

It had been a lengthy meeting, starting with Percy Weasley’s detailed and depressing presentation on the Wizengamot’s increasing embrace of “traditional” wizarding culture and concluding with a grim Arithmancy-based analysis of the latest polling data by Professor Vector. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the increasingly unpopular Minister of Magic, was trailing the likely nominee of the resurgent Traditionalist Party. 

Shacklebolt was the last to leave, slinking towards the Floo with his shoulders slumped. 

“It’ll be alright, Kingsley,” Harry consoled. “People aren’t stupid enough to elect a former Death Eater like Lucius sodding Malfoy.”

Hermione and Ginny Weasley-Potter snorted at his naïveté. 

“Your poll numbers will pick up before the Wizengamot calls the next election,” Harry insisted. “They have to.” 

Kingsley forced a smile. “I hope so, Harry. Winning was easy. Governing is harder.” 

Hermione thought more concrete encouragement was needed. “I have Rita Skeeter working on opposition research. We’ll find something to dirty Malfoy up.”

“I appreciate that, Hermione.” The Minister of Magic nodded to the four of them. “Good night.”

As the Floo rumbled, leaving the four of them alone in the room, Ronald Weasley shifted in his seat, an expression of deep concentration on his freckled face. “Dirty him up . . . .” he muttered to himself. 

“Earth to Ronniekins.” Ginny waved a hand in front of her brother’s face. “Can I clear the treacle tart?”

“Yeah,” he said vaguely. “It’s not as good as Mum’s, anyway.”

“Ingrate.” Ginny swiped the plate away. “Next time you’re getting corned beef. On stale bread.”

Ron ignored her threat, looking up with a triumphant grin on his face, as though he had just figured out how to take out a king with a pawn. “I’ve got it! I know how we can keep Lucius Malfoy from becoming the next Minister of Magic.”

“Oh?” Hermione raised a skeptical brow at her ex-fiancé’s proclamation.

“We need a sex scandal involving Malfoy!” Ron proclaimed. 

“We already tried that, Ronald,” Hermione said icily. “Need I remind you that it didn’t work as intended?”

In June, the Order of the Phoenix had arranged an internship for Gabrielle Delacour in the family office unit of Gringotts, knowing it would bring the newly-minted Beauxbatons graduate into inevitable contact with the Malfoys. Hermione had objected, even though she agreed that an extramarital affair with a teenaged French part-veela would put an end to Lucius Malfoy’s political aspirations. 

In July, Hermione’s objections had proven to be well-founded, on practical rather than ethical grounds, when she discovered Ron and Gabrielle on the kitchen table in their rented cottage, naked except for some strategically smeared chocolate fondue. 

Hermione had since called off the engagement and moved out, leaving the table behind. She still wore the ring Ron had given her three months after the Final Battle, but only because Harry had begged her. The political situation was fraught, and a significant percentage of Kingsley’s base bought into the myth of the Golden Trio living happily ever after, even if Hermione and Ron’s protracted engagement - which had been limping along well before Gabrielle’s arrival - suggested otherwise. 

“It’s not my fault Narcissa keeps Lucius’s bollocks in her handbag,” Ron sulked. “Besides, you know I’ve always been susceptible to veela. But I’m talking about the Ferret, not Lucius.”

“Are you just looking for an excuse to bring Gabrielle back from France? Because I don’t think an immature young man in his twenties cheating with a beautiful blonde eighteen-year-old is all that unexpected,” Hermione sniped. 

“But a pureblood like Malfoy getting caught sleeping with a Muggleborn is unheard of.” He gave her a significant look.

“You must be joking, Ronald!” she glared back at him. “It’s an absurd plan.” 

Harry shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. “I don’t know, ‘Mione. I think it would work. The Ferret has a soft spot for you.”

“Oh, please,” Hermione scoffed. “‘Mudblood’ isn’t exactly a term of endearment.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” Ginny Potter teased her husband. “Malfoy doesn’t have a soft spot for Hermione - “

“Thank you, Gin,” Hermione said, relieved that someone was with her in opposing Ron’s daft plan.

“- but he does have a hard one. Or do I mean a hard-on?” Ginny turned to Hermione, who was shaking her head at the redhead’s crudity, and grinned. “He’s had it since at least our last year at Hogwarts. Haven’t you seen how he looks at you?”

“I can’t say I’ve noticed,” Hermione said repressively. “Draco is married.”

“So? That was practically an arranged marriage.” Ginny waved a dismissive hand. “He’s still looking at you, not his wife. If he did more than look, it would be such a scandal. Lucius Malfoy touting traditional wizarding values - “

“ - while his son is cheating on his perfect pureblood wife with a Mudblood. I get it, but people will just blame me as the other woman. It’s going to destroy my reputation.”

“And the whole of wizarding Britain is going to think Malfoy made me a cuckold,” Ron moaned, ears turning pink at the thought. 

“A cuckold?” Ginny snorted at her brother. “What is this, the late eighteenth century? Are you going to challenge the Ferret to a duel over Hermione’s honor?”

Ron ignored her, giving Hermione a sober look. “There are sacrifices made in every game of chess, luv. It’s worth both of our reputations if it keeps the Traditionalists out of power.”

Hermione sighed, but could not disagree. Their democracy was so still fragile after Voldemort’s last war. Lucius Malfoy as Minister of Magic could smash it all to bits. 

Ron pressed his advantage. “If we set this up right, everyone will know Malfoy is taking advantage. Remember him as a prefect? Or the Inquisitorial Squad? He was a nightmare!”

“And he was what, fifteen?” Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“Yeah, but the tosser told me just last week at the Cannons match how much he looks forward to having you work under him, now that he’s joined the Wizengamot. It’s abuse of power, it is,” Ron argued. 

Hermione snorted. “That’s not abuse of power. It’s just Malfoy trying to get a reaction. 

Harry looked troubled. “Malfoy’s always been one to throw around his money and connections to get what he wants. That hasn’t changed. We need to remind people that’s what the Traditionalist Party really stands for.” 

“It will work, Hermione,” Ron urged. “You can make everyone see Malfoy and his whole family for the slimy, grasping bastards they are.”

“If the Ferret can keep it in his pants, he has nothing to worry about,” Ginny chimed in. “But I doubt he can.”

Hermione sighed, but couldn’t disagree with either of them. Ginny had a shrewd sense of wizards’ weaknesses and Ron’s strategic instincts, when not compromised by veela, always had been sound. 

“I still don’t like it, and I certainly don’t have to agree to it.”

“I know you don’t have to, ‘Mione,” Harry said seriously. “But nothing else has worked, and the Wizengamot is going to schedule an election soon. We can’t let a blood supremacist like Lucius slither into power.”

“If I do this, I’m doing it for my own reasons - not yours,” she warned them. 

Ron eyed her hopefully, like a puppy, while Ginny looked amused. Harry, however, averted his eyes. “I know.”


	2. Helpless? Helpful? Or Neither?

_13 August 2004_

On a Friday evening in August, the Ministry of Magic was close to deserted. Hermione made her way from her smallish office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures up two levels to the corridor of much larger offices allocated to members of the Wizengamot without encountering anyone beyond a maintenance wizard and his enchanted mop. 

She knocked lightly on the mahogany door bearing the gleaming brass nameplate “Malfoy.” Lucius Malfoy had resigned from the Wizengamot earlier in the year to focus on his campaign to become the next Minister of Magic, ceding the family’s ancestral seat to his son. 

“Come in,” a male voice called from inside. Hermione was not surprised he was working late. Draco quickly had established himself as one of the hardest-working members of the Wizengamot and one of the more intelligent. His primary focus was persuading the goblins to modernize wizarding Britain’s archaic financial system, resulting in frequent interactions with her department. Given that Malfoy did not tolerate fools or toadies - a sign of maturity from his days at Hogwarts with Crabbe and Goyle - Hermione was often tasked to meet with him. 

She walked through the deserted anteroom, Malfoy’s assistant long gone for the day, to a spacious interior office dominated by an intimidating mahogany desk and the equally intimidating blond man seated behind it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Granger?” he drawled, not bothering to rise to greet her. “Does an abused house-elf need to be freed _tout de suite_?”

Hermione was annoyed that his impeccable accent made her think of warm croissants and wrought-iron balconies with a view of the Île de la Cité.

“I need your help, Malfoy,” she blurted out, shifting her feet. 

Grey eyes regarded her with a mix of concern and calculation. “Do you really?”

She opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off with a gesture. 

“Sit down, Granger. You look like an errant schoolgirl just begging for a reprimand. It’s quite frankly distracting.”

Hermione settled into one of the chairs for visitors, choosing to ignore any potential innuendo. “Actually, I don’t need your help. I need your money.”

He raised one supercilious eyebrow in a silent invitation for her to continue. 

She stumbled over her carefully rehearsed words, cheeks pink with embarrassment. “It’s for my parents. They need ongoing care because of the memory charm I cast on them.”

“I know, Granger,” Malfoy said, not unsympathetic. “But what changed? The last time I offered to help, you told me precisely where I could shove my Galleons.”

“When you last offered to help, Ron and I both had a stipend for our Orders of Merlin, First Class. As you know, the Wizengamot decided to downgrade my Order to second class, and took Ron’s away altogether!” 

“I do know, Granger,” Malfoy sniggered, having led the campaign in the Wizengamot to strip Ron of his Order of Merlin. “Weaselbee doesn’t deserve any of the honors and rewards that fell into his lap for being Potter’s sidekick.” 

“What about me?” she asked, feeling a bit hurt. 

“Collateral damage,” he shrugged. “I thought you deserved some sort of sort of award for saving Potter’s arse any number of times, but you turned down the Order of Merlin we were willing to give you.” His indifferent tone reminded her that they were not friends. 

“It was for ‘providing aid and comfort to the Boy Who Lived.’ Of course I refused to accept it! It made me sound like some sort of camp follower!” Now she was flushed with anger. 

Malfoy laughed at that. “And we even left out the part about you and Potter traipsing around the country, alone in a tent.”

“You’re too kind, sir,” she said with thick sarcasm. 

He turned serious just as she stood up to walk out the door. “I apologize, Hermione. I didn’t know you were using the stipend to care for your parents. How much do you need from me?”

She sat back down. “Their care costs 150 Galleons a month. Each.”

He gave a low whistle. “How have you been managing that, Granger? I know you only earn 500 Galleons a month. No wonder your robes always look so tatty.”

“Are you abusing your privileges as a member of the Wizengamot to look up private information about me?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes and disregarding Malfoy’s insult to her clothes. That was par for the course in her conversations with him. 

“Don’t you wish.” He grinned, but then shook his head. “Ministry salaries came up last month when we were discussing the budget.”

With a tap of his wand and a whispered incantation, he opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out a money bag, and held it out to her. “Here, take it. I only keep sixty Galleons in the office, but I’ll stop by Gringotts after work tonight and get you the rest.”

“I can’t take your money in here! It will look like you’re bribing me!” Hermione said, scandalized. 

“And what will it look like if I show up at your home this evening with a sackful of Galleons?” he inquired. 

“It won’t look like anything, Malfoy, because you have the common sense to Disillusion yourself,” she snapped, annoyed by his on-point insinuation. 

“Perhaps a meeting at a Muggle hotel might be more appropriate for this sort of transaction,” he mused, as if she had not spoken. 

“I’m not a prostitute, Malfoy!”

He smirked at her. “We’ll discuss the terms of repayment tonight.”


	3. Say No to This

_13 August 2004, continued_

Draco was more anxious than he cared to admit as he strode up three levels to Granger’s flat, and not merely because he was on the fringes of Knockturn Alley with a heavy money bag under his cloak. 

She let him in as soon as he gave one sharp rap on the door. While his focus was on the witch in front of him, he saw at a glance that her flat was a tiny studio, scrupulously clean, and dominated by the bed occupying an entire corner. Or perhaps that was merely where his mind went when Granger was around, straight into the gutter. 

He dropped the money bag on the table by the door. “It’s enough to pay for your parents’ treatment for the rest of the year.” 

“Thank you,” she breathed, staring up at him. 

Draco shifted on his feet, uncharacteristically ill at ease. “I should go,” he muttered, looking at his feet. 

“Why? Is Astoria waiting for you at home?” Granger asked. 

He smirked faintly at the slight edge she was unable to keep from her voice when mentioning his wife. 

“No, Astoria is on a visit to her father,” he replied, keeping his voice flat and unreadable. Occlumency had its benefits, and he had never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve for all to see, like some overly emotional Gryffindor. 

“Please, stay,” she offered, drawing him deeper into the room. “You wanted to discuss the terms of repayment?”

“You don’t need to repay me, Granger. You don’t have the money.”

“Do I need to repay you in money? Or will you take services in kind?” she asked, fingers fumbling with the ties of her robes, her chocolate brown eyes fixed on his. 

He swallowed hard as the robes puddled at her feet, his eyes sweeping lower. Her lingerie was black, but still so sheer that he could discern the dusky shade of her nipples.

“It doesn’t need to be pecuniary,” he agreed in a strangled voice, unable to look away from her body. 

“I didn’t think so,” Hermione smiled, taking him by the hand to lead him to her bed. “Same terms as before?”

He nodded and allowed her to lead him a few steps before he stopped, looking down at her with a clouded expression. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, now focused on her face. He was far from sure himself. “You can say no to this.”

“I know I can, but I want this,” she assured him. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, moving closer to twine her body against his. His lips opened against hers, his tongue delving deep into her mouth to tangle with her own. When he broke off the kiss, they were both breathless and panting.

“I should say no to this,” he said, almost to himself, thoughts flitting to Astoria. His sweet but wholly unsatisfying wife, who stayed with him in a loveless marriage to avoid the scandal of a divorce.

Granger unclasped her bra and slowly pulled the straps down her shoulders, drawing his attention back to her, specifically her now-bare breasts. 

“Merlin, show me how to say no to this,” he pleaded. 

“Why?” Granger asked. “You know I’ll give you whatever you want. Whatever you can’t ask of a pretty pureblood princess.”

The witch wasn’t a Legilimens, but it was like she was reading his mind. Granger was a safe outlet for the darker impulses within him, a willing participant in his less than romantic fantasies. 

“Just say yes, Draco,” Hermione urged, one hand on his chest, stroking steadily lower. 

He snatched up her wandering hand, his thumb running over her engagement ring. 

“Take it off,” he demanded. “I don’t want you wearing it when I’m with you.”

Obediently, she pulled the ring from her finger and handed it to him. He glared at the small diamond set in gold that Weasley had given her. 

“Cheap,” he sneered, before flinging it towards a far corner. 

“I hope you were referring to the ring and not to me,” she stated, eyes narrowed. 

He looked down and shook his head. “Never, Granger. You’re priceless. Besides, I’d never be so stupid as to insult a witch who’s about to have her teeth so close to my most precious bits,” he added with a smirk. 

She smirked back as she lowered herself to the floor, not the slightest bit submissive despite being on her knees, wearing nothing but a sheer pair of knickers. Draco lightly gripped her bare shoulders, feeling the warm flesh and delicate bones beneath his fingers as he flexed. He intended to send her back to Weasley with marks all over her body, so the ginger could see how ineffective his cheap little ring was in staking any claim over Granger. 

She leaned forward to unbutton and unzip his trousers, her eyes catching the gleam of his platinum wedding band. “Take yours off, too, Draco,” she requested, fondling his already hard length.

“I can’t,” he shook his head. “With pureblood wedding vows, this ring stays on unless one of us repudiates the other. Astoria will never give me cause to divorce her, and she has a few million reasons to turn a blind eye to my indiscretions.” 

Granger removed her hand and frowned at his response. To appease her, he tapped his wedding band with his wand, concealing it with a simple charm. 

“That’s better,” she said, taking him back in hand. “Tell me what you want, Malfoy.”

Not waiting for a response, the witch began to tease him with her tongue, licking and lapping, looking up with an almost-sly look from beneath her lashes to gauge his reaction. 

He held out for at least a minute, standing rigid and unresponsive until he gave in and became fully invested in whatever little game she wanted to play. His hands tightened on her shoulders and a sneer replaced the troubled expression on his face. “Alright, Mudblood. I want you to open up and show me what kind of blow job I get for a thousand Galleons.”

Granger followed his instructions halfway, opening her mouth to grant him greater access, but keeping one hand frustratingly wrapped around the base of his shaft so that he could not go too deep, too quickly. 

“You used to be better at this, Granger,” he taunted. “Is the Weasel’s dick so small that you’ve forgotten how to deep throat?”

She glared up at him before drawing in a deep breath, causing her breasts to rise, and removed her hand. Draco closed his eyes in satisfaction as he felt the head of his cock pass through the warm cavern of her mouth and into the constriction of her throat. 

“Oh, yes,” he hissed in pleasure as she bobbed her curly head and sucked. “Just like that, Mudblood.”

He twined his fingers in her hair and pushed his hips forward, making her gag. Draco allowed her to push him off and draw a quick breath before rolling his hips forward, going deep again. She held him in longer this time, cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Her tongue teased the underside of his shaft as she withdrew. 

“Again,” he demanded, using his hands in her hair to keep her in place as he began to fuck her mouth. Hermione was now using her hands for better purposes, cupping them around his buttocks to keep him close. 

Draco looked down, watching her as she worked to pleasure him. Granger was quite a sight, on her knees, eyes watering, chin and cheeks damp with saliva. The visual was almost as arousing and delightful as the sensation of warmth, wetness, and delicious sucking pressure while her mouth engulfed his cock. 

At fifteen, when he had been so stupid as to whine to Pansy about having to go down on her in exchange for a blow job, his first girlfriend had explained in biting detail just how giving head felt to her. Then she had hexed Draco so he could experience it for himself. So he knew that Granger’s jaw had to be aching, her throat sore, and that she was working hard not to gag on his sizable member, but the witch was not letting up. 

He could feel his bollocks begin to tighten. As tempting as it was to continue to completion, he had other plans for the evening. With no little reluctance, he pulled his erection from her delicious mouth. 

Granger looked up at him in surprise. “You didn’t finish.” 

“Aren’t you the clever one?” he mocked, lightly slapping her cheek with his engorged member. “Brightest witch of our age, indeed.”

Her eyes widened in surprise and then darkened with either lust or anger. Draco decided to push his luck to find out which it was. 

“Did you really think I was going to let you go back to the Weasel without first pounding your pussy? I want you to lie back and think of me all week when he’s fumbling between your legs. Or maybe you’ll be too sore to put out, but I’m sure Ronald is used to deprivation, having grown up in poverty.”

“You are such a wanker, Malfoy,” she hissed, tilting her head up to glare at him.

“Not tonight, Granger. Not with your mouth and quim at my disposal,” he taunted. “Now turn around and get on all fours. I want to fuck you like the bitch you are.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” she said with a show of defiance that might have been more convincing if she wasn’t already positioning herself as directed. 

“You’ve got quite the filthy mouth.” Draco pulled down her sheer knickers and smacked the bare buttocks so fetchingly presented, knowing that she could hear the smug expression in his voice even if she couldn’t see it on his face. “Though I’m surprised a clever witch like you can’t get her pronouns right. I think what you meant to say was ‘Fuck me, Malfoy.’”

He lined up the tip of his cock at her glistening folds and drove in, seeing no need to prepare her with his tongue or fingers. 

Granger gave a gasping sort of cry as he entered her. She was slick with arousal, but tighter than he expected. “Salazar’s sac, Weasley really must have a pin-size dick,” he commented, pulling out. 

Granger’s only response was a grunt and another sharp cry as he entered her again. She was so tight that it took several hard thrusts for her inner walls to accommodate his full length. She cried out each time he rammed into her, the sound heightening his arousal.  Once he had bottomed out, Draco found himself dangerously close to coming. 

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, knowing that the velvet friction of pushing in and out of Granger’s tight cunt would be his undoing. Draco hoped that by holding still and allowing her to come around him, he would be able to last long enough to make good on his boast about giving her pussy a proper pounding. 

As Granger played between her legs, Draco lowered his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, marking her with nipping teeth before leaving a livid love bite on the column of her throat. He brought his hands to her breasts, pinching and pulling at her taut nipples. As she began to clench around him, Draco used some basic Occlumency exercises to calm himself slightly before pulling out and then pushing back into her greedy, grasping cunt. 

He fucked her hard and deep. Granger liked it rough, pressing back each time he surged forward and begging him to take her harder. With his Occlumency shields in place, Draco lasted longer than he had expected, fucking her through a second orgasm. As she screamed, he tightened his hands on her hips and picked up his pace, flesh slapping on flesh. When he was right on the cusp, he pulled out and flipped her like a rag doll, spurting his release onto her breasts and belly. 

Much to his satisfaction, Granger was spent. The witch couldn’t even be bothered to cover her nakedness as he looked down at her, admiring his handiwork as he tucked himself in and zipped up his trousers. 

“Take a picture, Malfoy. It will last longer,” she suggested with sarcasm, her voice huskier than usual from screaming out her pleasure after taking him down her throat. 

“There’s no need for me to take a picture, Granger,” he chuckled, buckling his belt. “That was a nice first installment, but you’ve got a sizable debt to repay. Come to my place tomorrow after dinner - and don’t bother wearing any knickers.”

* * *

Late the next morning, Hermione Floo’d through to the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, fresh from her second shower since Malfoy’s departure. 

Ginny looked up from the stovetop with a knowing smirk. “So, you shagged him?”

At Hermione’s nod, Ginny raised her spatula in salute. “How was he?”

“As expected,” Hermione mumbled, knowing her voice still was a bit hoarse from the previous night’s activities. 

Ginny’s smirk grew even more obnoxious when Harry took a large gulp of too-hot tea and began to sputter.

“Gross,” Ron commented from the breakfast table through a mouthful of toast. 

Hermione frowned at his table manners as she dropped a shiny disc onto the tabletop in front of him. “I thought Malfoy might check for Extendable Ears, so I charmed a Muggle video camera to begin recording as soon as he used the word ‘Mudblood.’”

“There’s not much to see, because the camera was focused on the bed and we never got there,” she continued in a clinical tone of voice. “Still, it’s quite obvious we had sex. Fellatio and then penetrative vaginal intercourse.”

Ron turned an alarming color at the information. 

Harry covered his ears. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“If you decide to watch it,“ Hermione began, as Harry frantically shook his head. She rolled her eyes. “I’ve edited your copy to block out my breasts and all genitalia, so you won’t see anything you shouldn’t. It’s safe for public consumption.”

Hermione turned to Ron with a thoughtful look. “Just be forewarned that Malfoy had quite a bit to say about you, Ronald, and none of it was flattering.”

“He’s an arsehole,” Ron muttered. 

She shrugged and gave her ex a hard look. “Don’t _ever_ ask me to do anything like this again.”


	4. Time to Pay the Piper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uh oh, you made the wrong sucker a cuckold  
So time to pay the piper for the pants you unbuckled”
> 
> \- Say No to This, Hamilton

_20 September 2004_

The languid heat of August gave way to September’s briskness and bright blue skies. With summer holidays over and children back to school at Hogwarts, the Wizengamot was back in session. An election for Minister of Magic had not yet been called - Kingsley Shacklebolt’s supporters were using every procedural maneuver they could to stall, as his approval ratings ticked up - but it was coming. 

After the Head Warlock brought his gavel down, ending the day’s lengthy session with an appropriately dull thump, Draco made his way back to his office. Astoria was back from her extended visit to her parents’ Hampshire estate and wanted to have dinner with him, but he hoped to get at least a couple more hours in at work, drafting a response to the goblins’ latest round of queries on his proposed financial plan. 

The outer chamber of his office was vacant except for a small, hyperactive owl, his assistant undoubtedly having left at five o’clock on the dot, if not earlier. Draco shrugged it off. It wasn’t as though she was essential to his work; besides, the elderly witch made excellent lemon biscuits and kept him apprised of all the juiciest Ministry gossip. Glancing at his watch, he wondered if he had time to take advantage of his empty office to invite Granger for a quick shag. He knew she would still be grinding away in her office well into the evening hours. 

The owl fluttered down to the desktop and began a frantic sort of hopping dance, pulling an involuntary laugh from Draco and distracting him from his randy train of thought about the curly-haired enchantress and just how much he had enjoyed her body - and company - over the past several weeks. 

“Give it over, you manic thing,” he chuckled, stilling the owl with one hand while removing the letter tied to its foot with the other. “Owl treats are over there,” he directed it, frowning at the unfamiliar scrawl and lack of return address. As a Malfoy, he was used to hate mail and Howlers, but some people took it a step further. 

He cast several precautionary spells on the envelope, finding nothing inimical as the small owl wolfed down the entire supply of treats before flying off with a squeaky hoot of thanks. Draco settled on his assistant’s desk, slit open the envelope with his wand, and extracted and unfolded the single piece of parchment inside. 

“_Dear Ferret_,” it began, “_I_ _hope this letter finds you in good health, and in a prosperous enough position to put wealth in the pockets of wizards like me, down on their luck. You see, that was my fiancée you decided to _-”

“Fuck!” Draco swore, his eyes dropping to the signature. He swiftly read through the remainder of the letter, scowling at the Weasel’s florid phrasing, threats, and his ultimate insulting and extortionate offer. Fighting back the urge to shred the offending parchment with his magic, he took in a deep breath to tamp down his rage before writing three curt words on his office stationery, folding it into an aeroplane, and hurling it towards the lift with unnecessary force. 

* * *

Hermione dropped her quill and rolled her shoulders, noting the enchanted windows at her Ministry office had shifted to show a twilit sky. She had arrived later than usual that morning, after a birthday celebration in Diagon Alley with Harry, Ginny, and Ron the night before, but it was now late enough that she had put in a full day. 

Hermione was debating with herself whether to put in a visit at the Muggle gym she had neglected for the last six weeks in favor of much more pleasurable but equally intense workouts with Malfoy when a purple paper aeroplane with a golden “W” on wings swooped into her office and landed on her desk. 

“_My office. Now_,” she read, smiling despite herself at his imperiousness. It was fortunate that Malfoy’s massive mahogany desk was as sturdy as it looked, since the wizard often wasn’t willing to wait until after work for their nightly assignations. 

After a quick dab of lip gloss and anticipatory contraceptive charm, Hermione grabbed a folder with her notes on the goblins’ usury regulations as a pretext for her visit to Malfoy and made her way to his office. 

He was pacing in the anteroom when she arrived, scowling. “What took you so long?” he demanded. 

“What has you in such a strop?” she asked back, laughing at his evident impatience. 

Rather than replying, Malfoy gave her a long, measuring look that made the back of her neck prickle with unease as he approached, backing her against the wall. He locked the door behind her and cast a Silencing Charm with two quick motions. 

“Nice earrings,” he commented, breaking an uncomfortable silence. “A gift from your loving fiancé? I wouldn’t have thought the Cannons pay their second string so generously.”

Hermione touched one of the ruby and gold studs with her pinky finger, wondering if Malfoy was simply jealous. It seemed unlikely, given the casual contempt with which he had regarded her relationship with Ron, but photos from her birthday dinner had shown up in the _Daily Prophet_, and the newspaper was among the papers scattered on his assistant’s desk. 

“These were a birthday gift from Harry and Ginny, too,” she said cautiously, trying to defuse the situation. Ordinarily, his proximity would cause her pulse to pick up for more pleasurable reasons, but she could tell he was furious and barely holding his temper in check as he loomed over her. 

“If you wanted jewelry, Granger, you only had to ask,” he sneered. “I would have given you whatever you wanted.”

“What’s the matter, Draco?” she asked in genuine confusion. 

“How could you?” he snarled, shoving a sheet of parchment in her face. “Was it all just a set up?”

With mounting comprehension, she recognized Ron’s familiar looping scrawl. Draco continued to speak, waving the letter in his agitation and preventing her from reading whatever rubbish her ex had written. 

“I went along with your imbecilic Gryffindor plan to keep Shacklebolt in office only because it was a chance to shag you silly. I got what I wanted - ”

“And you wanted what you got,” Hermione snapped. “You also know that your father would be a disaster as Minister of Magic.”

He gave a sharp nod. Having been forcibly inducted into the Death Eaters’ ranks as a teen due to Lucius Malfoy’s beliefs and actions, Draco as an adult was far from the worshipful boy he had been when it came to his father. 

“But I never agreed to this, Granger,” Malfoy said, gesturing with the letter. “It’s one thing to cheat on my wife, but the Weasel’s claiming I coerced you into sex, that I’m abusing you.”

Her mouth dropped in shock as Malfoy continued to rant. “I was a Death Eater at sixteen, Granger. You don’t know what I witnessed at the revels. I swear, I would never make you or any woman feel so helpless!”

“I had to put a decent woman under the Imperius Curse and make her to commit crimes for me. I’ll never cross that line again, using my magic or any other power to force someone to do what I want. You should know that.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Draco,” she soothed. “I trust you, and I’ve never done anything with you that _I_ didn’t want to do.”

“I’m still on probation, and the fucker is threatening to go to the Aurors if I don’t pay up!”

“Let me read the letter, please,” Hermione requested, understanding now why Draco was so upset.

She plucked the letter from Malfoy’s hands and began reading, her eyes narrowing at Ron’s words. 

“He goes on and on about how you’re taking advantage of me, and then he offers to let you keep seeing me if the price is right?” she snarled in outrage. 

Draco nodded, his jaw clenched. 

“Ron’s a knob,” she pronounced. She folded the offensive letter into quarters and dropped it into the waste bin, incinerating it with a quick spell.

Hermione bit her lip, thinking hard about the larger problem presented by Ron’s idiotic attempt at blackmail. After a few moments, she looked up with a grin. 

“Malfoy, pick up a quill and start writing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron’s blackmail letter paraphrases lyrics from Say No to This.


	5. Highlights!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily based on the song “The Reynolds Pamphlet” from the Hamilton musical, which depicts the reaction of Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and the public after Alexander Hamilton publishes a pamphlet confessing to his affair with Maria Reynolds. It’s hilarious onstage and worth a listen.

_26 September 2004_

Parvati Patel, junior editorial assistant for _Witch Weekly_, pranced into the Leaky Cauldron, advance copies of next week’s edition clutched close to her chest.

“Have you read this?” she demanded rhetorically of her best friend Lavender Brown; her twin sister, Padma; and brunch buddies Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe as she passed copies of the magazine around the table.

“Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger had a torrid affair! And he wrote it down - right there!” Parvati announced dramatically, pointing to the featured article.

“Ohmigod!” Lavender trilled. “Highlights!”

“Draco had frequent ‘meetings’ with her,” Parvati began.

“ - most of them at his own house,” Cho read ahead, eyebrows raised.

Lavender goggled. “His own house. Merlin!”

“Well, you couldn’t expect Hermione to go to Malfoy Manor," Padma said with a faint snort. "Not after what happened there during the war.”

“But where was Astoria?” Marietta asked.

“Astoria was absent on a visit to her father,” Parvati read.

“No! Boo!” The table chorused in disapproval. At Hogwarts, it had been recognized that Astoria Greengrass was a sweet girl, much nicer than the average snake. She had been well-liked, and remained so despite her husband.

“Have you read this?” Parvati handed another copy of the magazine to Hannah Abbott, who had emerged from behind the bar to take their order. “Draco Malfoy is cheating on his wife with Hermione Granger!”

“No!” Hannah exclaimed. “When did this start?”

“The affair started just last month, but Malfoy and Hermione were together before he and Astoria got married,” Parvati explained.

“What?” Lavender and Hannah asked in surprised unison.

“‘Draco and Hermione began their passionate, illicit romance when they returned to Hogwarts for their eighth year, after the war,’” Cho read, eyebrows going higher.

“Really?” Padma asked. “I was there for eighth year, and I didn’t notice anything.”

“‘Just before their graduation from Hogwarts, Draco whisked Hermione off to Paris for a romantic weekend minibreak and to celebrate his birthday,’” Cho continued, the tone of her voice echoing Padma’s skepticism.

“It’s true!” Parvati insisted. “He gave us the photos!”

“Paris? The City of Love? Show me!” Lavender demanded.

Parvati pointed to the relevant photograph in _Witch_ _Weekly’s_ multi-page spread, causing Lavender to sigh in vicarious satisfaction at a kiss in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Marietta pursed her lips at the photo. “What in Rowena’s name is Granger wearing? She looks like she should be trolling for customers in Knockturn Alley!”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Really? It’s a Muggle sundress. I think it’s pretty.”

“So what happened? Draco and Hermione were adorable together!” Lavender wailed, not bothering to read.

Cho obliged her with an answer from the article’s text. “‘They broke it off only a short time later, just before his marriage to Astoria Greengrass. Draco wanted to marry his Muggleborn lover instead of the pureblood princess, but not even the Brightest Witch of Our Age could figure out how to break the magically binding betrothal contract between the Malfoy and Greengrass families. Shortly thereafter, Hermione accepted a proposal from Ronald Weasley, but the couple never made it down the aisle as she continued to pine for her blond lover.’”

“Granger doesn’t seem to be the pining type,” Marietta chimed in spitefully, tugging her fringe lower.

“She is for Malfoy. We published copies of the letters she wrote to him - you can read it for yourself,” Parvati rebutted. “This isn’t just a hot summer fling,” she explained to her rapt audience. “They were together at Hogwarts, and Draco’s remained in love with Hermione the entire time he’s been married to Astoria. He finally gave into temptation in August and cheated on his wife. It’s all there, in the article.”

Padma pursed her lips in thought. “Malfoy’s never going to be Minister now.”

“Who? Draco?” Lavender queried, looking puzzled. “I didn’t know he was running.”

“Not Draco. Lucius,” Cho said, rolling her eyes at Lavender’s political ignorance. “Lucius Malfoy will never be Minister of Magic now. His base is too traditional to tolerate this type of behavior in his son. Also, Philip Greengrass has been one of the biggest donors to Malfoy’s campaign, but he’ll cut off support after this.”

Bored with the political talk, Lavender turned back to _Witch Weekly_, skimming the article for more juicy details. “Omigod!” she squealed again. “Draco and Hermione made a sex tape! And then Ron got his hands on a copy and tried to blackmail him!”

Parvati nodded, sagely. “It’s all there, in the article."

“Have you read this? Have you ever seen somebody ruin their own life so spectacularly?” Parvati asked late arrival Lisa Turpin, distributing another copy of the magazine.

“Not just his own life. What about Hermione?” Hannah asked, full of compassion - all brunch orders forgotten.

“Who cares about Granger? She brought it on herself,” Marietta opined. “But his poor wife!”


	6. In the Eye of the Hurricane

_27 September 2004_

Rather than staying in London to deal with the fallout from _Witch Weekly’s_ feature on her affair with Malfoy, Hermione decided that late September was a lovely time for a vacation in the Caribbean. It might be hurricane season, but she would rather deal with the risk of a tropical storm than the media storm that the article she had co-written was certain to create.

She had even thought about straightening her distinctive curls to better hide out from Rita Skeeter and other nosy journalists, but not even magic could defy Mother Nature’s heat and humidity on these tropical islands. Instead, Hermione traveled the Muggle way after arranging for a Portkey to New York, taking a plane and then a ferry to St. Croix. She knew that would throw off even the most determined newshound, as well as her well-meaning friends. There was only one person in the world who knew where to find her.

At present, she was seated on a terrace overlooking a placid turquoise sea, sipping a cocktail heavily laced with rum. It was barely a decent time to be drinking, even on island time, but it was early evening in London. Hermione signaled her waiter for a second Hurricane, increasingly convinced her gamble had not paid off. 

By the time she finished her second drink, she was sure it had not. After a brief internal debate between lunch or a walk on the beach, Hermione decided on both, in that order. She was on holiday, after all, even if she was alone. 

A lanky man made his way over to her table, freckled from the sun despite the protection afforded by his Panama hat. The Muggle’s build, freckles, and red hair created a strong resemblance to Ron. Hermione thought it would be a strange coincidence indeed if this man was the Weasleys’ Squib second cousin. 

“I brought you another drink, luv. And some company.” Flashing her a confident grin, the man seated himself across from her, passing her a third Hurricane and keeping a chocolate banana daiquiri for himself. 

Hermione forced a smile, put off by his forwardness. “That’s kind of you, but I’m at my limit for lunchtime. I’m also waiting for someone.” 

“It looks like you’ve been waiting a while. Why not have a drink with me and make a new friend?”

“I’m enjoying my solitude,” she said in a frosty tone. “Besides, you’re really not my type.”

The man smirked. “Well, that’s a relief, Granger. I’d hate having to compete with a talking orangutan for your affections.”

She recognized that smirk, if nothing else. “Malfoy?” 

“Indeed,” he confirmed, his hair shifting to blond and the freckles disappearing as he dropped the Glamour charms. 

“Draco!” Hermione exclaimed. “You can’t do magic like that in front of Muggles!” she hissed in a lower tone. 

He relaxed back into a chair, taking a healthy sip of his sickingly sweet beverage of choice. She reflected that she probably should have been able to identify him based on that alone. “I cast a Notice-Me-Not charm, Granger. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Did it work?” she asked, holding her breath and crossing her fingers for good luck. “I thought you’d be here hours ago, with the time difference.”

“I missed the Muggle ferry and had to charter a boat,” he explained, ignoring her question.

Hermione refused to be sidetracked by the wizard’s ridiculous extravagance. “Malfoy. Did it work?”

“It worked,” he confirmed, waggling his bare ring finger in triumph. “This isn’t a Glamour. My wedding band is off.”

She sighed in relief as he continued.

“I wrote my way out, just like you suggested. Astoria filed a petition for divorce with the Wizengamot as soon as she read the article in _Witch Weekly_. She told me would put up with infidelity, but not public humiliation.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione offered, feeling a pang of guilt for her actions towards a woman she barely knew. 

“I’m not,” Draco shrugged. 

“Well, maybe a little,” he hedged in response to her glare. “But Astoria knew from the start I was in love with you. She didn’t have to go through with the wedding, and she refused give me a discreet divorce. She also said to tell you that she hopes that we burn, whatever that means.”

“Maybe she still still thinks Muggles burn witches and wizards at the stake,” Hermione suggested. “Or it could be a reference to Hell.”

Draco snorted. “It’s probably the former. She doesn’t have the benefit of a swotty Muggleborn lover to teach her about Muggle religious beliefs. Like how love doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints.”

“What about the election? Is your father still running?” she inquired, preferring to talk about politics instead of Draco’s soon to be ex-wife.

“Thank Merlin, no. Fudge is standing for the Traditionalist Party instead.” Draco did not even attempt to hide his contempt for the bumbling former Minister.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “I suppose Fudge isn’t that bad.”

“At least he doesn’t have aspirations to become the next Dark Lord,” Draco pointed out. “I can’t say that for sure about my father. Besides, Shacklebolt may still win.”

“He might,” Hermione agreed, finding she cared less now that there was no chance of Lucius Malfoy becoming the Minister of Magic. 

“I don’t really care, to be honest,” Draco echoed her indifference. He looked her up and down and smiled slowly. “Granger, is that the dress I bought you in Paris?”

She smoothed the soft periwinkle cotton with her hand. “It is. I’m surprised you remember.”

“How could I forget, when it’s the only gift you ever allowed me to buy for you? And you look pretty good in that frock.” From the heated look in his eyes, it was clear that was an understatement. 

“You also lent me a few thousand Galleons, which I still owe you,” Hermione pointed out with mock innocence, confident that her sundress was going to be stripped off her and crumpled on the floor of her hotel room in short order. 

“So you do, Granger,” Draco agreed, tossing some Muggle money on the table and offering her a hand. “And I intend to keep collecting. It’s going to take you _years_ to repay me. Probably decades.”

He gave her a slow, genuine smile rather than his trademark smirk, an expression that warmed her even more than the strong tropical sun as she took his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexander Hamilton was raised on St. Croix, hence this choice of a tropical island for a romantic getaway and rendezvous!


End file.
